


prom1ses

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Breathplay, Chastity Device, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humanstuck, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You tell him not to worry, though. The both of you know that you’re the only one that can clean him up just right. Both inside and out. The only one that can make a somewhat decent pony out of this poor excuse of a human you’ve taken under your wing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prom1ses

**Author's Note:**

> *throws hands into air and sings at the top of my lungs* I'M NOT SORRY! I'M NOT SORRY! i'LL NEVER BE SORRY! i'M NOT SORRY!
> 
> Unless this is triggering. Then I am very, very sorry and would appreciate being told what I missed tagging.
> 
> Thank you and good night.

He feels so good. You thrust into him again and again, hearing his whines as he grips the stall, begging through gritted teeth not to do this here. To please stop before someone walked in. You just tug on that stupidly long hair of his, pull his head back. You tell him he better keep his mouth shut because if someone does hear him, then it’ll be all his fault. Then you’ll have to offer them a turn so they keep quiet about what was happening in that filthy bathroom. That gets him to silence himself, the only sounds now are your quiet grunts and your hips slapping against his backside.

He had the nerve to ask you to wait. Him. To ask YOU to wait like he forgot who he was dealing with. Like he forgot that you practically own him.

No. Not practically.

You do own him. You wrap his hair around your fist and pull him back as you sink completely into him, depositing your load in that tight, hot ass of his, smirking at your symbol, branded into one of those firm cheeks of his. Oh, how he screamed when that hot piece of metal pressed against his skin… You rub your thumb over it, earning more whimpers from him as you finish emptying yourself and pull out.

It’s all his fault, you tell him, say that he must feel right at home there, face smudged from the graffiti on the wall his face had been pressed against, surrounded by the smell of piss and filth. If he did a better job of keeping you satisfied, you wouldn’t have to make a stop in this little shithole. You tuck yourself away, smirking as he pulls his own pants up, knowing better than to speak, than to try to clean up your ‘gift’.

You take his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was more gentle, more kind than you had been previously, licking your thumb and wiping at the smudge.

You tell him not to worry, though. The both of you know that you’re the only one that can clean him up just right. Both inside and out. The only one that can make a somewhat decent pony out of this poor excuse of a human you’ve taken under your wing.

He thanks you quietly, letting you lead him out of the stall, wipe his face with a damn rag now, comb your fingers through his hair to straighten it out after pulling on it like you had been.

You tell him he can show proper thanks after you get home.

Horuss doesn’t look excited, those dark eyes hidden behind his glasses, behind his bangs. You grip his cheeks and make him look down at you.

He may be bigger than you, stronger. But he knew his place. He shrinks under your gaze, under your words when you tell him to look thankful for taking the time to show him that you were willing to show him how much you love him any time and any place. Ah, there goes that smile you love to see… Right before you break him again.

He trusts you so much. Your words drilled into him by now. You’re the only one that will ever love him. The only one that will ever care for him. He knows this to be true. That no one would want a disgusting thing like him. He honestly believes he’s meant to be a stallion and you find it hilarious. He’s so stupid…

But you lead him back outside. You don’t hold his hand. You don’t show him any affection at all, but he knows.

You ‘love’ him.

Everything you do is for his own good.

When you leave him, he doesn’t think it’s because you’re bored for now and go to ‘play’ with your little china doll. No… He thinks it’s because you’re letting him see how true your words are. That he can’t manage without you. That no one else will even acknowledge him, pay him any mind. That without you being there for him, he will be all alone. Forever.

And when you do show back up, be it after days or weeks or months he’ll look terrified. He’ll forget his place, believe he was actually happy without you there. Once, you went a year and came back to find he had found another ‘rider’.

Oh, how you broke him each time. Especially for that. That was the day you branded him, so that if he did let someone else into him, they would see that mark and know that he was owned. That they were nothing but a replacement to fill that void left by your being. You reminded him of his place every time. And he would cower at your feet, those blue eyes of his filled with tears as he begged forgiveness for going against your words. For believing that he could find happiness without you there.

Because you are his happiness. You are his joy, his pleasure, his everything. Without you, he is nothing.

You remember all of this fondly as you walk, chuckling at how he tries get used to the feeling of being filled and walking after being freshly fucked. You start thinking about what to do with him next.

When you reach the train station, and that’s when it hits you. Oh, how much fun you will have… The first two stops are uneventful. The train is packed, yes. Of course it is, it’s the end of the day and people are ready to go home, to their family, their loved ones. To relax after a long day.

You’re pressed against him, and you can feel how tense he is at that. Poor ponyboy. He doesn’t do crowds… That’s rough. For him. You rub across his ass, leaning up to whisper that he better keep quiet, just like before. He steels his jaw, eyes squeezing shut as he takes a breath.

He’s such a good pony. Your favorite show horse. And you’re going to put him on display, you tell him. His entire body shivers as you continue to knead that supple flesh, your hand hidden behind that curtain of his hair. Slowly, you slip into the back of his pants and his knees give a little. You can tell he wants to speak, but you promise that if he behaves, you might just let that ugly thing between his legs free. You might actually let him enjoy himself.

He looks so hopeful, you’re tempted to go back on your word just on principal.

There isn’t any prep work needed at this point. He’s still filled with your cum from earlier, already spread from your cock. Easily, you slide one finger into him after another until he’s stretched wide with three inside him. He’s shaking, biting on his lip to keep silent, but you hear him start to pant.

His hips push back into your hand, wordlessly begging for more. He liked getting attention this way. With the promise of relief, no pain of your rough thrusts, the threat of your teeth sinking into his neck. He may hate being in public like this, but it makes him feel safer - makes him feel like you won’t hurt him. He doesn’t care if it’s humiliating to be toyed with like this. You’re playing with him just right, and he won’t get hurt.

Or so he thinks.

He’s so busy grinding against your fingers, moaning quietly in that deceptively deep voice of his as you press at his sweet spot, that he doesn’t even notice your stop is getting closer. You don’t have to see to know that that metal prison you have his member trapped in is hurting him as he clenches to keep from growing harder. He’s so close, you can tell. And so are you.

The train pulls to a stop and you remove your hand, your fingers, and wipe them quickly on the back of his pants, leaving him there, turned on, flush, panting, incomplete and confused as you slip out of the closing doors with the crowd, waving at him. You mouth ‘See you at home, doll’ as it starts to move again and he’s crying.

Beautiful.

He gets back an hour after you do and he already knows. You’re lying on your bed, legs off the side with your headphones in when you feel him start to undo. He’s talking, and you know he is, even if you can barely hear him. Probably apologizing. Begging you not to leave him again. You don’t say anything as he continues to undress you, his hands shaky as they come to your fly when you continue to ignore him.

You long to look down, see if he’s crying from fear. That you’ll leave him for that, or maybe that you’ll hit him again. That you’re mad he took so long to get back since last time; his back was bruised for weeks. But you know if you do, he’ll think it’s okay to stop what he’s doing. And you want to see what he does.

He opens your fly, tugs your pants down and off. He places them neatly on top of your boots and rubs your thighs, caresses you through your boxers.

He won’t make you mad again, he promises. You turn the volume down and can hear the tears in his voice and your cock throbs.

Please, stop ignoring me, he begs. You just settle your arms behind your head and close your eyes.

You feel your boxers tugged down and his tongue drag across your length, which is only at half-mast from his distress. He works you over, apologetic kisses, gentle licks, needy suckles, until you’re hard, lapping at the bead of precum.

He’s begging again, you can feel his eyes burning into you before he nuzzles at your sack, laps at them, sucks one, then both into his mouth in an effort to get you to do something, say something, make a sound. ANYTHING.

You hear him sob, openly, and he reaches to stroke you, kissing at your thighs, his other hand rubbing at your calf. Please, say something. Please… You promised.

You sit up at that, and his cheeks color. He looks so hopeful, and you remind him that you are not bound to your word. His face falls, and that hopeful expression goes with it. You fist your hand in his hair and he whimpers again, and the sound makes your cock throb again. You can do what you want, when you want. If you decide to finally let him release, then that is your choice and yours alone and he will fucking THANK you for teaching him to control himself as you had.

He flinched and apologizes again. You tell him if he’s really sorry, he can put his mouth to better use.

You love how there’s no hesitation there. He nods, and you barely have to lead him back down before a groan slips past your lips and you’re buried in his throat. His lack of a gag reflex is a fucking blessing. His throat is nearly as tight as his ass as it tightens around you, he swallows and its bliss. You tug his head and he actually fights to keep you there, his arms around your legs. He wants to be good so bad. He wants your forgiveness, your kindness.

He wants release.

You growl, deciding that, if that’s how he wants to play it, you’ll let him. Breath play is your favorite kink, after all. You control him by the grip you have on his hair, that ponytail wrapped around your fist as you fuck his face. Drool is falling from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin. After a while, is throat is nearly impossibly tight. He needs air.

That’s when you pull him down as far as you can, until his lips are around the base of your cock and he struggles, nose buried in your pubes. You’re close, but he isn’t tight enough. You grin down at him, his eyes wide as his face grows redder. Slowly, you reach for his nose, the only warning before pinching it close.

He’s crying again, eyes wide in panic. He has no chance of getting air, getting a breath. His struggles increase, but it’s futile. He knows they’ll get him nowhere pleasant. You watch as his movements slow, his eyes drift shut and his throat is clamped tight around your member as he starts to pass out and you shudder at the sight, the sensation. You release into his throat, letting his nose go and slowly pulling out to finish on his face, his hair as he gasps for air, his color returning to normal.

He looks best that way, you think. Oxygen depraved. Covered in your cum. He’s resting on your leg, trying to recover, but you don’t give him long. You push him off, order him to strip and get on the bed as you remove the last of your clothes, your vest and shirt. He manages, though his movements are slow and uncoordinated, and just drags himself onto the bed. You leave for a moment, coming back with a simple silver key and when his eyes alight on it, he looks like everything he just went through was worth it.

He’s lying on his stomach, already assuming the position you like him in as you come over again and your fingers find their way inside him once more. Before you let him go, you ask him. Did he let anyone else use him on the train? Did he stop; try to take care of himself when you weren’t looking? Because if so, if he’s been bad, you’ll have to punish him.

He nearly sobs his answer. No. He was a good boy, your good pony. He came straight home. He wanted badly to stop, to have someone, anyone, take care of him, but you were the only one that knew how to make him feel good.

Oh, what a wonderful little slut you trained.

You tease him again, spreading him wide to look into his depths, see just how much of your first load is still in him and it’s just enough to make the next fuck enjoyable. You caress his hips, kiss over your mark on him before dragging your tongue along that dripping hole.

This is where he truly breaks. When he truly becomes yours. When you’re gentle. When you make him feel good. You tell him he can be as loud as he wants now. He’s home. He’s back where he belongs. Your tease him through his cock prison and he shudder, whines for you to please, please put your tongue in him. He apologizes, says he knows it’s dirty, but it feels so good and you’re proud at how he doesn’t demand you unlock him just yet. That he knows one wrong word ends everything.

You oblige, prodding at the loose ring, slipping your tongue in and he clenches around you. He presses back against your face and you drag your nails down his stomach and he whinnies before trying to bite it back. You pull back, reminding him again that he can be as loud as he wants and he nods, looking back expectantly. You hold up the key, asks if he thinks he’s ready. Hesitation, then a nod.

Good boy, you say, sliding the key into the lock. A click, and it falls away, and Horuss nearly sobs at the new found freedom. He’s thanking you, hips lowering to rut against the sheets, glad for any feeling at all against him.

You want to roll your eyes, but you roll him instead, onto his back so he can no longer ‘celebrate’. You tell him you’re doing him a favor as you wrap your fingers around his quickly hardening member. Tell him how disgusting his cock is, how freakish with its size, its girth. That no one would ever want to fuck him with something like that between his legs – they wouldn’t even want to touch it. But here you were, granting him the honor of having your hand around it, of stroking it, and he thanks you like he was dying of thirst and you offered him a bottle of water.

When you start to lick around his reddening head, he cries out, running his fingers through your mohawk because he knows better than to grab. You don’t have to put your mouth there, he says quickly, weakly trying to push you away. You take him then, engulfing the head in your mouth, taking him inch by inch until he’s pressing into your throat and he sobs in pleasure, hands moving to cover his mouth, his face. He tells you he’s close already, begs you to pull away, and you don’t.

You’ll grant him this mercy. Ensnare him more as you continue to suckle on him, stroking at what you refuse to put in your mouth since you don’t deep throat. Not him. This is good enough for him. It didn’t even take that long before he blew his load, crying as he did, and you swallowed every drop. You were disgusted by the taste, but oh, it was worth it…

Horuss was a mess. Laying there, sobbing as you pulled him, still hard, out of your mouth. You kiss his thigh, mentally scowling, and tell him it’s alright. You’ll milk him good. He uncovers his face then, and his eyes are red from the tears. He asks if you mean it and you only smirk. Of course, doll, you tell him. You’ll make your pony feel like a real stallion. He’s earned it, after all.

He brightens up so much, you swear he’s literally glowing as you sit up, spreading his legs wide so you can settle between them, rubbing against his entrance. He rolls his hips, pleading for you now, and you slowly sink into him.

The way he arches off the bed, his arms go around your shoulders, it’s almost like it’s his first time. But it’s not. You both know it’s not. It’s not even his first today. And the scars, the burns and bruises, proved that there was a history of this happening. He’s moaning and you have to remember that you’re supposed to be breaking him gently. You roll your hips to meet his, sighing and leaning forward, pressing your chest to his and gently kissing at his neck.

You ask him who loves him, and he answers, with no hesitation. You do. You love him.

You ask him who else, and he says only you.

You tell him he’s right, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear and kiss him as you start to move. He’s moaning into your mouth, legs wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer, deeper into him. He tells you he loves you. That you make him feel so, so good when you make love to him like this. He promises to never leave you. That he’ll do anything for you, for your love.

And inside, you just laugh at him. As you ‘make love’ to this poor, mistaken, boy. As your bodies move ‘as one’ and he’s pushed closer and closer to the edge. As your voices mingle, your breaths. As your lips clash in heated kisses and fingers run through hair and he peaks, arching into you, crying out for you to fill him as he paints your stomachs with his cum, clenching around you until you paint his insides with your own.

Inside, you laugh as you break him. As you mold him into your perfect toy. Your beautiful, broken Doll.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even going to explain how I ship this because I don't. I don't ship it so much it circles around to this madness and I love and hate it in equal measure.


End file.
